The Black Rider
by tweetzone86
Summary: AU. Everyone survives the battle, but Thorin is mad with Gold sickness. Gandalf thinks Saruman can cure him, but he will have to travel to Orthanc. Leaving Balin behind as steward, Thorin and half the company set out. On the way, they are captured by Goblins, and the two young heirs are tortured. They are rescued by a mysterious warrior, but who is he? Rated M for violence and rape
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

Being a slave was all she had ever known. She had been born into it, and had lived in involuntary servitude under the Haradrim for as long as she could remember. Her mother had been taken when she was with child, and had been a slave ever since.

Cirashala knew that she was not a full blood elf. Her mother, Celethián, was very tall, about five foot ten, and graceful and beautiful, with long straight golden hair that fell past her waist, piercing pale blue eyes with darker blue rings and light green specks, pale flawless skin, and a voice so beautiful that even the birds would stop singing when she sang for fear of interrupting. Her mother was incredibly beautiful if it wasn't for the sadness that had consumed her for many long years, her eyes would not look so tired.

Cirashala, however, was only about five feet one inch tall. She had pointed ears like her mother, but her hair was red and fell in many curls, which was extremely rare among elves. The last elf to have possessed red hair had been Feänor's son Maedros who had died long ago in the First Age, and while it was possible for an elf to have curly hair, no elf had ever had hair as curly as Cirashala's according to her mother. She only shared her mother's pale skin and blue eyes framed by long lashes, her lips, her slenderness with exception of a good figure, and her voice, though she did not believe her voice could even remotely compare to the beauty that was her mother's voice. She was indeed very beautiful and graceful, but long ago she had accepted the belief that she was plain and her mother was the most beautiful elf in all of Middle-earth. But, she had not been raised among elves and had only ever seen a few within her slavery.

She knew from her height, her very curly red hair, and her other features that she couldn't possibly be fully elf. But every time she asked her mother about her father, a flash of insurmountable pain would cross her mother's eyes and she would shut herself off from everything around her for weeks. Cirashala had long ago decided that she would refuse to cause such pain to her mother and stopped asking when she was very young. But the question had always been in the back of her mind.

Being fair elves among the darker Haradrim had ensured they were owned by the most powerful of the tribal chieftains of Harad, Shakûri the Cruel. He was an evil warmongering man, always inciting war among the other tribes of the east, and long past his ancestors had been ardent supporters of Sauron in the days of the Last Alliance.

He was well known for having orcs and other foul creatures in his service as well as brigands, and he ruled his tribe with an iron fist and hard will. He would be very content to whip slaves raw who so much as looked him in the eye unless commanded to, burn slaves alive for mere entertainment, and Illuvatár help anyone who so much as dared to oppose him. Their bodies would never be found, for they were fed alive and screaming to the orcs under his command, who would begin by gouging their victim's eyes out, burning their limbs and skinning their victims alive, and proceed to cut off any protruding body parts as they skinned before they are torn apart by the ravenous orcs. It was a terrible death, and even the threat of it was enough to silence any who would dare oppose him.

However, when it came to his female elvish slaves, he was much less cruel in a beating sense. For they were meant for his amusement, and he did not wish to mar their bodies too much lest he cease to enjoy them unless they greatly angered them. Elvish female slaves were even rarer, so they had to severely anger him for him to risk killing them. The female slaves who were beautiful were made a part of the chieftain's personal harem, were given food and drink (though not too much, lest they become less desirable should they gain too much weight), and each were put through forced beauty regimens to remain attractive to the chieftain.

The harem girls would be sent for at his whim, and he would tie them up and rape them, and generally do as he pleased until he was satisfied, and then release them back to their quarters. When they weren't in their beauty treatments or in his bed, they were put in small rooms with a single bed, a barred window, and sparse coverings (one really didn't need many blankets because it was very warm in the southern parts of Middle-earth). They would have a chamber pot, and a small chest of drawers to keep their many pieces of clothing in. Many of the harem girls and women were also belly dancers for the chieftain and his court, and would be summoned to entertain him and his guests, and sometimes his harem girls were sent to the chambers of Shakûran, his son and heir, as well.

Celethián was a harem girl, and since her daughter had been born into the slavery, she was destined to be a harem girl as well. Cirashala showed a talent for belly dancing, however, her mother had ensured that she would not be sent to the chieftain or his son's chambers, offering up herself instead so that her daughter would be spared the pain and humiliation. They took great pains to hide her daughter's beauty, making her face dirty and her hair unkempt and unruly. She would go to great lengths to smell bad, and every time beauty treatments came up, her mother would find a way to pleasure the guard so that Cirashala would be spared the beauty treatments. It was very much against the law for the guards to spend time with the chieftain's harem girls and they faced certain death if they did, but time and desperation to keep her daughter from enduring the torture she had endured for many years had made it possible to thwart even the threat of death.

But while Cirashala could make herself ugly with the various make ups and dirt and such that were available to the harem girls, go without bathing for as long as she could without wounding her skin, and become a servant girl within the harem, she was by no means oblivious as to what was happening with her mother and why she did it. But her mother had been a noble woman before her capture so long ago, and had ensured her daughter that she would rather sacrifice her body to protect her daughter than have her daughter live a life of disgrace. There was nothing Cirashala could do but watch as her mother was brought in after her liaisons with the chieftain and his son, broken and crying and with several bruises, split lips, black eyes, and occasionally broken ribs. All things that would heal without permanently marring, and since her mother had been an elvish healer and had taught Cirashala the healing arts, she was able to heal all the harem girls after their injuries to ensure no permanent damage. But some scars run too deep to heal, and as the years passed, her mother grew into herself more and more, until she became a very ghost of a shell. Her once bright eyes now stared listlessly, not taking any enjoyment in anything she saw, save for her daughter. She never smiled, she never sang (unless she was forced to perform for the chieftain and his guests, but there was no longer any melody or emotion and it became listless and dull and a mere shadow of what it had once been), and her eyes grew more and more tired each day that passed. She would awaken; go about her duties, and sleep. And when she was not called for entertainment or offering herself in place of her daughter (the chieftain and son did not mind-she had learned much in the bedroom and was very skilled by then), she would stare listlessly at the brick wall of the small quarters that she shared with her daughter.

The only time her mother would come out of her shell was to educate her daughter. All Cirashala knew of her mother's past was that she had been of the woodland realm in the north of the Greenwood and was of noble birth. How she had been of noble birth was never mentioned, but Cirashala possessed a tiny gold locket with a very small picture drawn in it of her mother and another elf with a piercing gaze and hard features, although in the picture it seemed as though the features softened somewhat. She kept that locket fiercely hidden, and it had never been found by the guards. She once asked who the elvish man in the locket was, and all Celethián would say was he once was your kin. She refused to say his name or anything personal, but she ensured that her daughter was well versed in Elvish script, the history of Middle-earth, the lays of her kin, her numbers, the healing arts, and though they would have to improvise on what they used to "pretend" were weapons based on what was available she would teach her the basic fighting skills. She also taught her about diplomacy, the history of the other races (or what was known to the elves of their history), the old feuds and alliances and the ones that had existed up until her mother had been taken captive.

But the most important thing she had ever taught her daughter was that no matter what feuds existed between races (some dating all the way back to the first age, some more recent), she was to always judge a person by their hearts and their own actions and not by their race or appearance or familial status or social status or any other common biased judgments that existed. In her time as a slave, Celethián had experienced good and evil hearts within all races (except orcs-they were all evil because they had been created from the evil of Morgoth, as opposed to elves, men, dwarves, and hobbits who were the Children of Illuvatár). She also taught her daughter to never take life for granted, whether it is one's own life or the life of another, and to never take a life needlessly. Cirashala would never forget this teaching. If her mother chose to come out of her shell to teach her, she always heeded her words, for though her mother was a wood elf, even among the few Sindarin and Noldorin elvish slaves among the Harad she was regarded to be very wise.

So the years passed, and Cirashala grew from a small child into a lovely young elf maid, and her mother continued to offer herself in her stead to protect her virtue and honor. She was taught that no matter what life a person is born into, honor is of the heart and she was to lead the most honorable life she could. When a slave was being beaten, she would try to intervene, often earning a whipping in return. When a slave was punished with lack of food or water she would share her portion. She would heal the other slaves' wounds and provide a comforting ear to those who hurt. She was fiercely protective of her mother, for though she was a compassionate healer and never harmed anyone except to protect others, and then never killed, she only trusted and confided in her mother. And as the years passed, her virtue remained intact. Whether by the actions of her mother or by a strange force at work they did not know, but Cirashala's virtue was protected, and the day of her coming of age finally arrived with her still pure of heart and mind. And it was on this day that her heart was forever shattered.


	2. Prologue part 2

_Chapter 1_

The day began like any other day. She woke up with the first rays of sun beating down upon her through the loose bars in her window. She sat up slowly, attempting to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Last night had been a long night. Her mother had displeased the chieftain's son somehow, and had been severely whipped. She had spent half the night cleaning the wounds on her mother's back, for the whip was used on several slaves and it would not do for them to become infected.

Her mother did not even flinch as she cleaned the wounds. Cirashala was trying desperately to be gentle and not cause her mother further pain, but her mother seemed to be oblivious to the wounds that had lesser girls in the harem screaming into their thin blankets. She just stared ahead, the blank, unfeeling expression in her eyes and the dark circles glaringly apparent against her pale moonlit face. Cirashala would have longed to hear her mother cry out at the sting of the rough cloth against her skin, not because she wished to hear her mother cry out but because it would have shown that her mother was still with her.

It had been several years since her mother had spoken. When Cirashala had been born, her mother still laughed sometimes, she still sang to her at night, and her eyes would light up when she saw her daughter. But that light she loved to see burn in her mother's eyes had finally died about ten years ago. She hadn't said a word since then except to offer herself in place of her daughter. Cirashala sometimes believed that her mother had become deaf as well as mute. However, she had resigned herself to simply be with her mother, for she knew that it was only her presence that allowed her mother to simply carry on, a shell though she was.

_When she had been young, her mother had told her many things about being elves-including how most elves cannot be raped, for they would lose the will to live and go to the halls of Mandos in Valinor, to sleep until Illuvatár had need of them in Arda and Manwë allowed them to be awakened. She had been very confused, for her mother was an elf and had endured that shame, and yet she lived and did not fade. Her mother had smiled a sad smile and simply said, "You are the reason I stay, hên nín. I stay in the hope that one day you will live." _

_She did not understand her mother's riddle at the time. How could she not be living? She was not dead-she still drew breath. It wasn't until many years later when she was taught by her mother about the gift of men from Illuvatár-that whether by the sword or the slow decay of time, men will die. She then slowly began to understand-elves were the only children of Illuvatár that were immortal-they could fade, or be slain in battle, but disease and age will not claim them. Although, despite being an elf, she still got sick occasionally, though only once did illness bring her to the brink of death only to struggle through and survive, and when she did become ill it was not as severe as when the human slaves fell sick. She healed faster than the human slaves, but more slowly than her mother, who often healed within days of being injured. When she finally found the chance to inquire about it, her mother had confided in her that she was peredhil, a half elf. This was the only thing she had been told about her father-that he was a mortal. She ventured to ask another question about her father, something she had never done before. _

_ "Naneth, was father short with hair like mine too?" she ventured, looking into her mother's eyes hoping that her questions would finally be answered. A pain she had rarely seen passed through her mother's eyes and they were filled with sadness such as she had never seen there before. Her mother's eyes misted and she looked away. The room became so silent that the slight rustling of a leaf as it slid across the stone pathway was deafening. Her mother did not speak again for weeks, except when required to do so by her captors._

Cirashala had never asked about her father again, though time answered her question for her as she learned how rare it was for such red curls to be amongst elves. She often wondered if her mother had purposely told her this as a way of answering her question without actually having to speak about her father. She longed to know the story, but she knew her mother would never tell her. She wondered if he had been killed when her mother had been taken and if that was why her mother wouldn't speak of him. Eventually she had ceased wondering, her mind being consumed by more important matters-such as keeping the one person she loved with her in heart and mind as well as body.

She got up and stretched and heard the familiar bang of the small door at the bottom of the larger door to their room and the clatter of cups and plates as their morning rations were placed on their floor. She bent down to pick up both plates and cups, and brought them over to their bed, being very careful to not spill a single crumb or drop, for food and drink was precious, given by a ruler who wouldn't think twice about allowing a clumsy slave to go hungry rather than replace any part of their meal. She sighed as she set the food on the bed and began eating. Her mother lay there prone, not seeming to have even heard the door open or the birds singing outside. She just stared ahead blankly unseeing as she had been for the last ten years. Some days Cirashala could coax her to at least go through the motions of eating, but other days nothing she said would tempt her mother to break from her state for anything other than her duties as concubine. She highly suspected that even those movements were mechanical.

Cirashala could not count herself as cheerful living the life of a slave, however, this was the only life she had ever known. Where food was guarded like gold, where her keen senses were always on alert and her awareness of her surroundings were heightened, where even the wrong look could send a slave to the whipping post. So there were days where she was better in spirit than others, but her trust and affection existed for her mother and her mother alone. She was the only person Cirashala loved, and the only person she would talk to aside from duty or healing. She was very quiet and careful not to draw too much attention to herself, except when it came to aiding others.

She knew simply by the look on her mother's face that she would not eat today. She would give her food to another slave. She would have tried to hide it in her clothes for tomorrow, but then the rats would climb in the windows and try to eat it through her clothing, and she never tried that again. She did whatever she could to keep the rats at bay. Any time she was able to go out to the courtyard that the main area of the harem opened up to, she would very carefully slip small stones into her clothing, and those stones would be used against any rats that dared enter their room. Although her mother had told her she could wield a bow with deadly accuracy, she had never been good with throwing stones-it being a fairly unelvish trait. However, Cirashala had great skill with throwing stones, though she was unsure how she was so gifted at such. Eventually the rats began to realize that it was less hazardous to them to simply go to different rooms and while she still saved the stones she didn't have to use them often.

Cirashala spent the day scrubbing the floors of the harem, taking care that she did not get the soapy water on herself and risk getting clean. After she was done with that, she was sent outside to the fields surrounding the elaborate palace. Guards watched over them very carefully and made sure that whatever field the harem girls worked in did not have any other slaves in it to ensure that the harem girls would not be used by any save the chieftain and his son.

During the past three weeks the chieftain had been off fighting a neighboring tribe, and his son Shakûran had been temporarily chieftain in his place. While the chieftain was gone, the harem girls often worked the fields since their other "services" usually weren't required as much. The prince was forbidden by his father to let anyone save himself lie with the harem girls, so out of the sixteen girls the prince typically would take no more than four girls a night leaving the other twelve to work the fields until his father's return. He would pick the girls who would work the fields that given week and those who would entertain him that evening. Apparently, whatever her mother had done to displease him had been great indeed, for he had sent her to the field for the week alongside her daughter. When the harem girls worked the fields, they stayed in small huts connected to each other just off the field at night but still within the walls surrounding the palace. The rats were more numerous here than in the harem rooms, but there were also far more opportunities to collect stones and Cirashala ensured that they would be only minimally bothered by rats that night.

As darkness fell, her mother finished weeding and gathering the bugs from her rows, but Cirashala still had one more row to do. She knew that the guard who watched them that day favored her mother's harem skills and had no doubt given her fewer rows in hopes of getting more entertainment that evening. His plans had been thwarted however, when a horse bolted out of nowhere dragging him on the ground behind it, and right at the end of the evening he had been replaced by another guard, who simply noted who was done and who was not and was not one to risk his position by partaking in forbidden fruits.

He believed her mother to have simply worked faster than the other girls, and released her to be escorted to her hut for the evening. Cirashala rarely was parted from her mother and gone out of her way as much as possible when her mother's harem services were not needed in order to protect her, especially so since she had become so withdrawn. She anxiously risked a glance up as she heard her mother's name spoken in her dismissal for the day. She finished up her last row as quickly as possible, with the guard walking behind her and the other girls barking for them to "hurry up!" It was a long row, however, and it took her a good forty minutes to finish it even working at top speed. Once she was dismissed, she walked as fast as she could toward her hut.

Nothing in the whole of Arda could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes.

_hên nín-my child_

_peredhil-half elven_

_Naneth-mama_


	3. Prologue part 3

_Chapter 2_

As Cirashala opened the door to her hut, she noticed a strange sound. She was so accustomed to the sounds of silence from her mother, and yet she thought she heard the faint sound of crying through the second door. Puzzled but trying not to show it, she turned around and bowed low to the ground at the guard. It was a customary gesture expected of slaves to show their gratitude to their guards for being allowed to live one more day.

The field huts had two doors-an exterior door then another door partway in. They did not wish to taint the crops with the contents of slaves' chamber pots, so each hut had a small privy in the short front hallway. Another door off that hallway led to the sleeping quarters. The lack of chamber pots was a well received luxury of working the fields instead of the harem, even if it wasn't intended for the slaves' comfort.

Once Cirashala had bowed to the guard, the guard quickly shut the door and locked it from the outside. She could hear him testing the lock to make sure it was secure, and then as soon as she was sure he had left she rose and fairly ran into the next room. She stopped dead in her tracks at the horrific sight that met her eyes, unable to speak or move for what seemed like hours but was barely minutes.

Her mother was lying on the floor, barely breathing. Tears streaked her face, and a crude bloodied knife was in her right hand. There were deep slashes all over her body, and her beautiful long hair had been raggedly torn from her head. But in her eyes, for the first time in ten years, Cirashala saw the spark of hope return. Through the tears her mother smiled at her, and Cirashala was broken from her trance.

"_NANETH_!" She cried, running toward her mother. She fully believed that her mother had finally gone mad, for the damage done to her mutilated body had been clearly of her own doing. The knife she held looked to have been slowly hewn from a long stone over time. The Haradrim weapons were forged, not hewn like simple arrowheads. Cirashala quickly glanced at the wounds, gauging their severity with the expert eyes of a healer long accustomed to dealing with slash wounds. She instantly knew that her mother would not survive this self inflicted onslaught.

She cradled her mother's head and shoulders into her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Why, _naneth_?" She whispered, too stunned to say anything else. The tears continued to fall in a steady stream over her white face, leaving dirty streaks in their wake. Her mother smiled at her for the first time in fifty years.

"_Hên nin_, I don't know if you ever heard me, but you must listen to what I have to say and carry it with you for the rest of your days." Cirashala nodded, and her mother continued.

"The time has come to tell you who you are, and how you came to be here." Celethián paused, and as she began to speak again, an invisible weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She pointed feebly toward the dresser. On it was a folded parchment.

Celethián looked into her daughter's eyes, and silently begged her to listen. Cirashala nodded.

"When I am gone, read it right away. Please. I do not have the strength to tell it to you in person," she said, gasping for breath. Cirashala nodded, tears filling her vision once more.

"Every night since the night you were conceived, I prayed to Illuvatár that you would be granted the life of an elf. I did not want to be forever sundered from you. Today, he granted my request. _Hên nin, _you have been given the same choice as Elrond halfelven. You may choose at any time the life of a mortal with thrice the lifespan of a human, or the life of an elf. But this choice can only be made once. After you choose, if you so choose the mortal life, you may give the gift of thrice back and die. But your life will not exceed that of 300 years."

Celethián paused, catching her breath. Her wounds seeped slowly, the bleeding slowly stopping. But the ground surrounding her was dark with blood, and there was blood all over Cirashala. She did not care though, because her mother, while dying, was blissfully _alive_. Her mother, having caught her breath, continued.

"I beg of you to choose the life of an elf so that one day I will see you again in Valinor. But the choice is yours and I cannot choose for you. All I ask is no matter what you choose that someday you will return to the woodland realm and restore the honor I lost. Promise me, _Hên nin**, **_that you will regain my honor," Celethián choked out. Cirashala nodded her head.

"Promise me, _Hên nin,_" Celethián begged, using her last remaining strength to grip Cirashala's arm.

"I promise, _naneth_," Cirashala whispered, "I promise."

Celethián sighed, and a dazzling smile lit up her face as her eyes peacefully closed. Cirashala watched in horror as her mother's chest stopped moving and her body went limp in her arms. The look of peace on her face erased the deep lines that her sorrow had placed there. The years of anguish seemed to vanish in mere seconds, and her mother looked more beautiful than Cirashala had ever seen her. She looked as if she had never been enslaved, and through the blood and dirt Cirashala beheld the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Her mother, the one person she loved more than anyone save Illuvatar, was home at last in the Halls of Mandos, sleeping peacefully awaiting the day where she would once again sing and dance under the trees.

With a grief and a heavy heart she never knew she could possess, Cirashala gently laid her mother's body down. She cleaned up the blood off her mother's body and hair. She lifted her up onto the bed and folded her arms across her chest. It took every feat of strength she had to stand up, leave her mother's side, and walk toward the fluttering letter atop the dresser. Opening it, she saw the familiar elvish hand of her mother's. She slowly sat down next to her mother's body and began to read.

_I was the only daughter of the elvenking, Oropher, of the woodland realm. He was lost during the battle of the Last Alliance, and my brother Thranduil became King. For many years, the memories of The Battle of Dagorlad Plain haunted him, but eventually the memories subsided. I was only a small elfling when they went away to war, and I was left with my cousin, my mother having died giving birth to me. As the years passed, the shadow that haunted my brother's dreams vanished. He fell in love and wed, and had a son, Legolas. He is your cousin. But I had not found love. One day, I was riding in the woods on the way to visit kin in Lothlorién. I was supposed to have an escort, but my escort had taken ill suddenly having eating a poisonous plant and I told him to return to the palace. He protested, but I insisted, knowing I could defend myself if alone but not as well if I was also defending him, and he conceded. Two hours later I suddenly heard cries for help coming from the enchanted stream, and I saw red curls dip below the water. I was able to crawl out onto an overhanging limb and rescue the unfortunate traveler. But by the time I pulled him out of the water, he was fast asleep. He was also badly injured. He was small in stature, about five feet tall, but very broad and well muscled. He had the most unusual feet-they seemed to be larger and had some hair on them. When I had found him, he was wearing no shoes, but his feet had several cuts on them and were rather soft, telling me that he normally wore boots. I believed them to have fallen in the river. If it hadn't been for his height, strength, and his soft, albeit hairy, feet, I would have believed him to be a Halfling. But I knew that Halflings are only four foot at best and slender, and their feet are not soft but have tough leathery soles. And they are not known for their strength. Yet his hands were small and his ears as well. So I knew that he did not have dwarf blood. I was intrigued, and I took pity on the poor traveler. His clothes were ragged and torn, so while he slept I tended his wounds and mended his clothing. My horse was content to graze in the clearing I was in. However, his wounds were severe enough that I did not want to risk moving him, and I knew that my kin would not welcome him. My brother was very distrustful of those outside his own race. He did have some dealings with men, but it was primarily for trade since we lived in a forest and received food and other necessities from our mannish neighbors in Esgaroth and Dorwinion. But unbidden strange guests were not tolerated well in his realm. So I stayed in that clearing for a month while his wounds healed, gathering and hunting what food I could and building a shelter. He awakened after about a week, and we began to talk. I found that he was half hobbit half human, and his father had been very tall and broad. He treated me with utmost kindness and respect, and was the first person to ever love me without knowing I was a princess._

_I fell in love with him in that clearing. I knew my brother would never allow our union, but I hoped to slowly ease him into the idea. I knew that was not expecting me any time soon, so I was not pressed head back to the palace. So for the month long, I stayed with my love. It was the happiest month of my life. _

_My love lived in Esgaroth, and once his wounds were healed I took him back. He had been attacked by brigands on the road two days before I had found him, and had wandered into the forest. As we came within sight of Esgaroth, I bid him farewell with the promise I would see him soon. We agreed to meet secretly in the forest until I had convinced my brother to allow me to publicly court him. _

_All that winter I slipped away to meet him, and we would walk through the forest under the stars, talking and laughing. I would sing elvish songs and dance elvish dances for him, and he would sing for me. He had a fine voice for a mortal. I have never been happier._

_But one day that spring, my brother's chief of the guards, Tauriel, saw me slip away without an escort, and followed me to keep me from harm. She saw my love and I in the forest, and as soon as she saw I was safe, she reported back to my brother. As soon as I returned, he summoned me to the throne room. He ordered me to stop seeing him and said that he had arranged a marriage for me with a proper elvish lord. I was devastated and pleaded with him for me to marry this man. He forbid it, and threatened to lock me in the palace until I agreed to marry the elvish lord. I ran to my room in tears, and that night I drugged the guard at my door, disguised myself as one of the guard, and slipped out of the palace. I went to Esgaroth and said to the gatekeeper that my beloved was to come immediately to the elvenking's palace for he had hunted on his lands and needed to pay for the stag he had taken. The gatekeeper did not question me and sent for him at once. He caught my eye and I winked, and he played along. We rode toward the palace until we were out of sight of Esgaroth, and then veered into the forest until we found a clearing we hadn't used in a while. We dismounted, and he stared at me asking why I had come when I had not planned for this meeting. I took a deep breath and told him what my brother had ordered me to do. He became angry. He asked me if I loved him. I told him I did, but that I did not want to risk being exiled from my kin. I begged him to leave me, for I knew if he tried to continue seeing me my brother would not hesitate to kill him. He suddenly looked at me with a fury in his eyes I had never seen there. As he suddenly advanced towards me, I felt a cold chill grip my heart, and began to run toward my horse. He was faster than me, and threw a knife at my horse, killing it outright before shoving me to the ground._

_He raped me. The only man I have ever loved, have ever given my heart to, laid me down in that clearing and took that which was most precious to me-my virtue."_

Cirashala stared in utter shock at her mother. All the years of distance, all the looks of pain, all the times she avoided speaking of her father suddenly made sense. Time seemed to stand still. The room began to spin. Even the blood dripping from the many gashes on her mother's body seemed to still in that moment. The one man who ever loved her, and he betrayed her in the vilest of ways. Cirashala looked down at her mother, tears blurring her vision. She blinked them back, intent on reading her mother's last words no matter what.

_I was broken. I wanted to fade. But that very same second something wonderful happened. I heard a voice tell my heart that a child was beginning to grow within me. To this day I believe it must have been Illuvatár speaking to my soul, for I know of no other reason why I am the only elf to have been raped and still survive. He left me there on the forest floor, and after many long moments, I managed to hoist myself to my feet and make my way back to the palace. I never told anyone about what had happened. I just wanted to forget. I told my brother it was done and that I would consent to marry the elf lord. The engagement feast was arranged, and everything began to come together. I heard from some of the raft men of the elves that my former beloved had been killed in a tavern fight that he had started over a perceived insult to his height. I slowly began to heal. Then my stomach started growing, and it became harder and harder to hide my being with child. _

_One day, I was stepping out of the bath when my brother came into my room. I had been so tired as I had gotten into the bath I must have fallen asleep. When he didn't see me in my room, he knocked on the bathroom door. Having had no response, he knocked again. When he still didn't get a response he opened the door. I startled awake and he apologized for intruding. However, my clothing was on my bed and he hadn't noticed. So I had to leave the bathroom in a mere towel. He saw me come out and went to turn around, but then spun back around more quickly than I had ever seen him move, his face contorting in anger. He had seen my stomach and there was no mistaking what was happening. _

_A week before this happened, our realm had gotten attacked by Easterlings from Rhûn. My brother had been desperate to end the war. He met with the elven lord privately, who immediately returned the engagement ring and told him that he would seek to ruin his kingdom if he should ever mention his sister or the bastard child she was carrying and to get rid of me and my child. My brother summoned the chieftain of the Easterlings to his chambers along with the elven lord, and I received a late night summons in my sleep. A guard was sent to escort me, and dismissed as soon as I arrived. I looked at the Easterling, at my former fiancé, and at my brother, dread dawning on me at the utter look of lust on the Easterling's face, the smirk on my former fiancé's face, and the look of finality and utter disgust on my brother's face. _

_On that night, my brother sold me into slavery for a bag of emeralds and the promise of peace. Myself and the child I carried were forever banished from the elven realm, death being the price if we should ever venture into the realm again. The Easterling desired me, but it was considered bad luck to bed a pregnant woman, and as such he refrained from bedding me, though he did find other ways to safely torment me. The night you were born his camp was attacked by Shakûri, and myself and the child I had given birth to were captured as plunder. From then on I have led the life you have seen. _

_I pray to Illuvatár that you will find a way to escape this day child. You have been granted many of the elvish traits-keen senses, some resistance to illness and injury, healing abilities, fighting abilities, and wisdom. But remember-you do have some human traits too, and some Halfling traits-I believe your ability to be deadly with stones to be one of the Halfling traits, as is your curls and your stature. You will not heal as quickly as an elf, and you are able to become ill, though a human will succumb more quickly than you will. _

_Remember always what I said about judging the hearts of people rather than the outward appearance or status. You may have been born out of wedlock, you may be a quarter Halfling, a quarter human, and half elf, you may have been born a slave (though Illuvatár willing you will escape this night-I have drugged the guard so as to help you), you may be an exile banished from your home and betrayed by your kin. You may have lost your title and nobility, if you ever were granted it in the first place. But no matter what you are or what happens to you, honor is a choice. You are not born with it, you choose it. Live your life with honor always. In every action you take, let it be noble and honorable. Even if you don't get rewarded, help others less fortunate than yourself anyway. Protect those who cannot protect themselves, heal those who are hurt no matter who they are, and be honest and fair in all your dealings. Take up the garb of a man to keep you safe in your travels, and get the weaponry you need to defend yourself at need. Never be hasty to take a life, and only take it at great need. _

_Seek Mithrandir if you can. He is one of the Istari and very wise. I hope he can be of help to you when you need it, and his wisdom is something that those who wish to be wise seek. On the outside, he appears to be a simple old man, but do not let that fool you. He is very wise and knowledgeable, and his power is far greater than you can possibly imagine, though he is loath to use it unless at great need. _

_I love you my child. I will always love you. I will await you on the white shores of the sea, though if you should choose the life of a mortal, I will ask that I might be granted the ability to at least see you in your life. Do not rely on listening to your heart, but be quick to listen to your instincts and your mind. A heart can mislead you, but the wisdom Illuvatár has granted you and the instincts you bear will not steer you wrong. _

_Naneth_

So this is an author's note-The two chapter plus prologue in one night is likely to be a special treat, as I have a 1 year old and almost 4 year old keeping me very, very busy. I will likely seriously regret staying up til 2 am this morning to give you the three chapters, but I wanted to make sure that I am getting my OC's backstory up so that I can get started on the story that follows the summary for this tale. I still have one more chapter of backstory before I will be ready to dive into "present day" meaning Thorin and his escort setting out to see Saruman.

I also read my prologue and first chapter and cringed- I will be editing that to flow better hopefully tomorrow so that it doesn't sound like a fourth grader wrote it (seriously I am a much better writer than that as you hopefully are seeing in this chapter which was much better thought out!) But I am simply too tired to do more tonight.

I hope you enjoy my story. I do intend for this to be a long story as I love stories one can sink their teeth into so to speak. I will try to make sure to update at least once a week (if you have seen my earlier "lobelia's unexpected adventure" story you will know that is a difficult feat for me!) but since my husband does end up with two days off every week hopefully I can steal away to peck away at this one!

Anyways, you are probably getting bored with the author's note so I will wrap it up. Check in hopefully tomorrow to get ch 3 and revised prologue and ch 1. The content will be basically the same-I am going to fix my run on sentences and just tweak it to flow better.

Review and favorite! I get excited when I see them and hopefully it spurs updates! ;)


	4. Prologue part 4

_Chapter 3_

Cirashala set the letter down on her lap, head whirling amidst her grief. Her mother had been the sister of Thranduil, the elven king of the Greenwood? And he had sold her into slavery for being raped? Something her mother had been unable to control?

Suddenly, Cirashala's tears stopped and her heart filled with the flame of hatred. The elven king-the man who, according to her mother's letter, was her uncle- had betrayed her mother. The hatred burned in her veins and her vision turned red. She wanted nothing more than to escape this life she had known and travel to the Greenwood and take the life of her uncle. But as quickly as it had started, it faded. She remembered her mother's words-

_Never be hasty to take a life, and only take it at great need._

Filled with a new resolve, she gently folded the letter and placed it in the tattered hidden pocket that she used to collect stones. She leaned over her mother and gently placed a final kiss on her forehead, then she gathered her mother in her arms, wrapped her in the blanket that had been underneath her, and proceeded to carry her into the front hall. She carefully laid her down, climbed up the frame of the door until she reached the window in the door, and then proceeded to reach her arm through the bars as far as she could to where the keys for her hut were kept on a nail near the door. She tried in vain to reach them, but they were just beyond her reach.

She suddenly thought of her locket. She braced her legs on either side of the door jamb she had scaled and, with one arm holding the loose bars, slipped her necklace off her head. Reaching out again as far as she could, she swung her necklace out until it slipped onto the nail the keys were kept on.

She pulled the necklace until it slid along the nail, and in doing so she managed to knock the ring of keys off the nail. They landed in the dirt below-right in front of the door. The door had a large gap in the bottom and Cirashala just managed to fit her thin arm under the door and reached for the keys.

She kept reaching, but again the keys were just beyond her grasp. She maneuvered herself on the floor, hearing the pop of her shoulder as it protested the movement. Once more she reached, pressing the joint of her shoulder up against the door as far as it could go. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase and she finally just managed to feel the cool steel ring under her fingertips. She pulled the keys under the door and climbed up the door jamb again. She could stick her arm out and just reach the lock on the other side of the door.

She tried several keys, and was beginning to despair, but stubbornly kept on. Finally, the last key slid smoothly into the lock, and she was able to turn it. She heard the click, and the door fairly flew open, knocking her from her precarious perch and landing her in an undignified heap on the threshold.

The hot, dry wind burst into her face despite the darkness, for the earth had not yet had a chance to cool from the heat of the day. She looked up, and was glad to note that there would be no moon tonight. She would escape much more easily under the cover of darkness.

Quietly she gathered her mother's body up in her arms and slipped out, locking the door and climbing up to place the keys back where they were. Should any other slaves be able to escape this way, she did not want to risk their captors discovering how she had gotten out without any evidence of damage. Surely with their superstitious beliefs the Haradrim would blame elven magic. Although the elves were blessed with a minimal amount of magic, it was more the kind to keep unsavory things off paths or the ability to grant weapons the powers to glow when orcs are near or light torches seemingly without effort. Full blooded elves may be able to walk atop snow, but they most certainly cannot walk through walls!

She heard the guard at the end of the long row of huts snoring loudly as he slept. Whatever her mother had slipped into his drink was apparently very effective. As she silently crept forward with her precious bundle, she came within sight of him.

He was a smaller guard, thin but very wiry. He stood a little shorter than many of the Haradrim-perhaps a youth who was unsuited to battle and paying for his lack of prowess on the battlefield by playing babysitter to the harem slaves. She almost hated to cause him trouble, because while he was strict and demanding, he had never risked his position by even so much as staring at the harem girls for more than necessary, and her mother had not needed to offer herself to him in order to protect her daughter. All in all, he had been a halfway decent guard, and she could not help but feel a bit guilty at the punishment he would surely face if it was found out he had been sleeping on his watch and allowed the two elven women to escape.

She decided to take some of the discarded rope around him and bind him securely, in hopes that it would at least lessen his punishment, and scrawl meaningless elvish script on the dirt in front of him to make it seem as though they had escaped by bewitching him. Feeling less guilty after she had decided what to do, he then carried out her plan of tying him up and leaving the elvish script on the ground, then picked up her mother's bundle and stealthily crept into the cover of the thick bushes that stood between her and the outer wall of the fields.

She silently made her way along the wall, ducking under the bushes and stepping as quietly as she could, her breath hitching every time she heard footsteps of the patrols. She knew his watch would be over in an hour and that was all the time she had to escape before the guard was alerted. She planned on heading across the desert as far as she could until she could cross the great Anduin River and into the realm of Gondor where she would no longer be chased. The Gondorians carried no love for the men of the South, and were fairly constantly at war with them. If she could somehow acquire clothing to wear after she crossed the border that did not look Southron, then she would be able to travel as far as she could from Harad hopefully unmolested.

_But, _she thought to herself, _there is something I must do first. _

She continued to creep along the wall until she heard waves lapping on the shore. Beyond the wall on this side was Belegaer, the Great Sea. She found a tree that reached higher than the wall, hoisted her mother across her slim shoulders, and began to climb, thanking Illuvatár that she was an elf and very good at climbing. She reached the top and looked up and down the wall. The guards were walking along the wall doing their nightly patrol. The guards were sparse, most having gone to war with Shakûri, and she thanked the stars above for the blessing, because it would make her odds of escape higher.

She watched as the guards met right under the tree she was in, then turned and started walking away from each other. She waited three long breaths, then silently jumped down and raced across the narrow expanse to the battlements on the other side of the wall. She knew the only thing on this side of this wall was the outer court where the chieftain's ships would be moored and his wares would arrive. But that was her goal.

She quickly looked to the side and saw that the guards were nearing the point to turn around. She knew that it would be a matter of seconds before they saw her. Quickly she looked down and caught sight of a cart filled with hay for the chieftain's mounts. She jumped down into it and held still, for she suddenly heard voices speaking in Kuáéran, the dialect of the chieftain's people. Two very drunk sailors stumbled off a moored ship and stumbled by her cart, no doubt to continue their merrymaking in one of the many taverns and brothels that lined the streets that lie through the great gates of the outer walls of the palace. They likely had been left behind to guard the ship while their shipmates had left earlier and had gotten bored with their post.

Cirashala began to get skeptical. This seemed too easy. Her senses heightened, and she began to hear every rush of wind, every cricket chirp, every footfall from the guards above her, and every merry voice that drifted over the water from the shore taverns on the other side of the wall. She held her breath for what seemed like forever, but then she heard the footsteps fading.

She looked up and realized that the night was growing darker. Soon the time would come for the young guard to be relieved of his shift, and as soon as a slave guard was found tied up, every alarm in the castle would go off and she would be caught and severely punished. She clutched her mother's body to her and climbed slowly and quietly out of the cart, heart freezing in her throat with each creak of the cart.

She finally managed to disentangle herself from the cart, and was slinking between crates and barrels on the shore, going towards the river that led toward the ocean past the docks. She soon found what she sought.

Her keen elven eyes had espied it from when she was perched in the tree despite the darkness-a rope tied and bobbing with nothing seemingly attached to it. As she looked over the edge however, her heart leaped for joy, for indeed there was a small dinghy tied to the dock. She untied it, and wrapping the loop of rope around her forearm, led the small craft towards the mouth of the river. At the edge of the river, she placed her mother in the small boat, again folding her hands over her breast and fanning her long golden locks about her shoulders. In the soft twinkling light of the stars above, her mother's face, though marred, shone radiantly, her lips formed in a slight smile, and all the wrinkles of her enslavement gone. She leaned over and kissed her mother's head, and with a last lingering hand shoved the small dinghy into the current.

As she stood on the shore, final tears of grief and joy falling down her cheeks, she watched as the dinghy floated swiftly toward the moving waves of the ocean. Her red curls floated behind her in the slight warm breeze as she stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and her tattered skirt floating in the wind behind her. She watched as her mother's body floated over the waves and out of sight, knowing that it would take a long time but that Ulmö would guide her mother to the white shores of the Undying Lands, for all elves who travel by boat or ship to seek the Blessed Realm would be granted safe and peaceful passage along the currents toward the peaceful land of the Valar. Cirashala deeply believed in her heart that even though her mother's soul was no longer resting in her body that Ulmö would take pity on her and give her body rest in peace, never again to be marred by the cruelties of this world.

Unknown to Cirashala, though, her actions did not go unnoticed.

Ok, I know that I said one more chapter of Cirashala's backstory then we can get on with the main story, but then I looked down and saw that this chapter was already over 2000 words! I also noticed that it is already almost ten pm my time, and my 1 year old and almost 4 year old are very early risers-7-8 am in the mornings, and as I have a sleep disorder, alas I must get to bed.

So one more chapter of backstory of her escape, then we will get on with the Thorin/gold sickness/rescuing heirs from goblins/mysterious stranger story I promise!

I got a wonderful review today, so I have updated as promised. Keep 'em coming! They encourage me (and remind me) to write and update! :D


	5. Prologue part 5

_Chapter 4_

Shakûran was only stepping out for fresh air. He hadn't expected messengers to arrive from his father's armies for at least another month. He had endured their long messages, their pitiful attempts to be meek and submissive, and their stench. For in all honesty, war camps are not known for regularly bathing, having more important matters to attend to at the time.

_But if they were to bother to appear in front of ME, they should have bathed. Must I be forced to endure such stench from this lowly filth? _ He thought to himself angrily. He never once considered that, as mere servants, they would even be given the opportunity to bathe. He simply had to be in the same presence as servants who were unwashed, and for a spoiled, selfish chieftain's son, it was simply unacceptable.

So was the message that he had received. He scowled as he mentally replayed the message in his mind:

_My son, our endeavors have not been in vain. I have secured victory over the insolent tribes who would dare to oppose my right to whatever land I wish to acquire for my province, although it has been at a cost. If they think that they can try to outmaneuver and outwit the great and powerful Shakûri, they are sorely mistaken indeed! It would have been achieved sooner, but the idiots I have under my command are insufficiently trained for warfare befitting the servants of the Dark Lord. As such, there will be many beheadings of such worthless whelps, for how can I display my ever present glory and power over those who would dare oppose us if my pitiful "soldiers" cannot possibly fight with the honor and ability befitting a warrior of the Haradrim? _

_Alas, due to the ineptness of the current troops, I have sustained injury. T'is merely a flesh wound, but it will leave an abominable scar on such a perfect face. If we are to continue using slaves as soldiers, I trust you will make better decisions next time regarding their captains, else these useless worth will only succeed in allowing our kingdom to be run over by lesser troops, an embarrassment I am NOT willing to experience. _

_I will be returning with my armies, or what's left of them, in a week's time. I trust that you will have some troops who actually know how to fight at the ready when I return; else there will be one Haradrim Prince who will suffer my wrath as well. For if you fail, then you are no son of mine, for I never fail, and neither should you. I trust that incompetent captains will not be chosen by you again. _

_I expect a full report of the happenings that occurred in my absence. I trust you will have it at the ready._

_Shakûri, King, Lord and Chieftain of the Haradrim of Near Harad_

Shakûran scowled and barked at the guards passing him to leave him be if they wished to keep their heads attached to their shoulders. Not willing to test his threat, the guards scurried off immediately without hesitation. Shakûran espied a stone lying on the rampart, picked it up, and threw it with all his might and anger it toward the mouth of the river leading out into the sea.

Spotting a small flash of gold out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a small dinghy floating out to sea, nearly out of sight. It rode a wave up toward the ocean, and he sucked in his breath. For in the dinghy was the golden haired harem elf maiden that he favored. He easily espied the blue tinged face, having keen eyes for a human, and realized that she was indeed dead, and the dinghy was meant to be a shroud of sorts. His face contorted in anger as the dinghy floated over the crest of the wave and finally disappeared from sight. His favorite plaything was dead and gone, and he turned toward the shore, angry features twisting as he swore blood lusted revenge on whomever was responsible for her death.

Spying a lone figure in the water, he was immediately transfixed by what he saw. His anger ebbed, though not disappearing entirely. The blood lust that had been clouding his vision moments before had been replaced by desire.

For he had surely beheld nothing more beautiful in his mind.

Cirashala watched her mother's dinghy crest over the wave, her golden hair glinting in the light of the setting sun.

_Namarië, Naneth, _She whispered as the dinghy crested and left her sight. She looked around her, eyes blurring with tears, her grief welling up inside her. For the first time in her life she was truly alone. She brushed the tears out of her eyes and straightened her shoulders. Her mother's letter had urged her to escape this life, and she would, or die trying.

As she brought her hand back down, she noticed the smears of blood.

_Her mother's blood. _

She gasped in horror as she realized that she was still covered in her mother's blood. Immediately she glanced around, and not seeing anyone, ripped off her tattered dress and stepped into the waves up to her waist. The sea shelf dipped quite quickly here, and she had no wish to swim and try to clean herself simultaneously, wishing to be done as quickly as possible so that she could find a way to escape.

She knelt and gathered the rough, gritty sand in her hands and began to scrub herself all over. The waves from the tide coming in kept sweeping over her shoulders as she scrubbed. Had she taken the time to consider it, she would have been glad she had not waded deeper, for the waves as is nearly bowled her over each time they crashed over her shoulders. Her wet red hair fell over her back, the sun glistening off it as its rays touched it.

She had no idea that anyone was watching her, let alone Prince Shakûran himself. She was so wallowed in her grief and horror of being covered in her mother's blood that she was not as careful as she had been. Years later, as she would dream of this night, she wished that she had been more cautious.

She stepped out of the sea as she finished ridding her body of blood, her now clean skin pink where she had scrubbed. She grabbed the tattered dress, and debated throwing it into the sea, but discarded the idea when she remembered that she was completely naked and would need at least something to keep her modesty.

Shakûran stared at her while she bathed. Was this truly the filthy whelp of a daughter of the golden haired elf slave? Every time he had seen her, she had been encrusted in dirt and grime and smelled far worse than even the messengers he had received earlier in the day. The few times he had even _entertained _the idea of bedding her had been shot down when he smelled her rank before she had even reached the halls. His repeated orders for her to bathe had led to several guards placed in charge of the harem killed. But, when he had been able to bed her mother so willingly, and with so much experience, in exchange for sparing her daughter, he did not pay it much mind. Let the stinking gutter rat sleep in the harem and entertain his father. He was satisfied.

Now, as he stared at her beauty, he could have kicked himself all the way to Mount Doom and back for being so stupid as to actually have succumbed to her apparent guise for so long.

_But not anymore, _he thought evilly. _My golden haired plaything is gone, but I still have her red haired elven daughter. And this time, it will be a virgin I break. Tonight, I make her mine._

He began to descend the steps down to the shore as quietly as he could. He did not want her to hear him approach with her keen elven ears. He had seen how strong elves could be, and he did not wish for her to bolt or join her mother in the sea and drown herself.

Cirashala froze as she heard the distinct sound of boots crunching on sand. Before she could even turn her head toward the sound, a hand went over her mouth and a strong arm encircled her arms, pinning them to her side. Suddenly, she felt a sharp crack on her head, and her vision faded into darkness.

"Well, well. What have we got here? A pretty elvish lass, and a slave no doubt?" a voice laced with lust and disdain whispered next to her ear. A shiver went up her spine. She knew that voice. She immediately began to struggle, but something squeezed her, sending the breath out of her lungs and making her gasp for air. Her eyes slowly opened, head pounding and vision hazy as she beheld the sight before her. She tried to scream, but a hand was still over her mouth, muffling the noise.

"I have waited a long time for this, elf scum," the voice sneered. She knew immediately who it was. Her mother had protected her from him for many years. She began to struggle as hard as she could, arching her back and sending her head back crashing against the face behind her.

She heard a loud crunch and a curse. The arm around her torso loosened, and she bit down on the hand over her mouth, hard. She tasted blood for the second time that day. The hand darted away from her mouth, and she jumped back, knocking Shakûran backwards. His grip left her as he fell onto the floor. He began cursing violently as he wiped at his now bleeding and broken nose.

"You will pay for that, you worthless dog!" he screamed, mentally berating himself for dismissing his guard so hastily earlier in his anger. He had hoped that the knock on her head would keep her unconscious long enough to tie her to the bed, but she had unfortunately awakened as soon as he had stepped into his bedchambers. Now he would have to fight, for he knew just as well as she did that there was no one left for her in this world. Therefore, she would either give up completely like her mother had or fight ferociously because she had nothing to lose. And apparently she was going to fight.

Cursing, he hauled himself up and drew his dagger. He ran at her but she dodged the blow, eyes sweeping the room frantically for a weapon. Unfortunately, the prince knew that he would have slaves in his bedchambers frequently and had removed all weapons from the immediate chamber and placed them in his sitting room. The only weapon to be had was a long knife, or shortsword, and he was wielding it.

As he swooped down at her again, he managed to snag the corner of her dress, ripping it off her shoulder. She twisted again away from him-_curse these elves and their insufferable agility! -_ And tried to make for the door. But he was anticipating that, and stepped in between her and the only door out.

He waved the shortsword threateningly, and stared at her with a dark look of anger, lust, and power. Her face paled, and she stammered out her last defense.

"What about the Rite of Aldarí?" She asked, voice wavering slightly. "You cannot bed a virgin or else you will have bad luck ending in your horrific death."

"I am Prince Shakûran, Lord of East Harad, and soon to be chieftain! My idiot father tells me he has a flesh wound, and we all know how easily those can get infected! I am Chieftain! I am King! The Rite of Aldari will not DARE to curse me!" For he had already been plotting his father's demise, because he had been brushed aside, struck, and belittled his entire life, and the message of his _failures _this afternoon had sealed it, as well as providing the perfect opportunity to poison his father.

Indeed, it seemed as though madness had taken hold of him, for Cirashala quickly realized that reasoning and clever words would not protect her any further. He was clearly insane with rage, and she knew that if she let him get another hold on her, it would be over. Whatever evils he planned, it would most likely end in a horrific and unspeakable death. Or if she would to survive, she would become a mere shell like her mother did or fade entirely.

She knew this was it-escape, or die. So when he lunged at her again, mad as though rabid, she dodged the blow as she had, determined that she would dodge him as many times as needed until she somehow tired him out so she could escape. For she knew that, though grief weighed on her, her endurance would be much higher than a mortal human's.

What happened next came as a surprise to them both. His boot caught the edge of the rug and he fell, landing on his shortsword. She watched in horror as the blade protruded from his back, covered in blood. He turned over, and the shock filled his face, for he had clearly not expected this end either.

"You filthy whore!" he gasped out, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

"You vile wretch! You are NOTHING! You will never be more than the bastard child of an elvish whore! May a thousand men have their way with you, you conniving little wench! Curse you!" he spat out.

Trembling, she could only stare back at him with a face filled with hatred as she stared at him gasp for breath and then fall still, eyes that were menacing minutes before now staring blankly at nothing. When she had watched her mother die, there was grief and sadness. But now, there was nothing in her heart but hate and fear and loathing of this vile man, who had dared to defile her mother and destroy the lives of thousands of slaves, and who had threatened her with a fate worse than death. No, though his death had been accidental, she felt no pity for him.

She quickly came to the realization that this would be the only opportunity for her to escape. There were no guards nearby, and the curtains fluttered in the night breeze through the open window. She looked out the window at the moonless sky, looked down, and saw a hanging vine trailing by the window that led to the ground. She then looked back at the dead corpse of the prince, and turned and began to climb out of the window. She did not glance back.

Ah now we have finally accomplished the backstory! (sighs in relief) Sorry for the long wait-I had been meaning to be better about updating this story (my second one-my first one will likely take a back seat for a while til I can get more time to write!) But life has been crazy. Found out both my almost 14 month old AND my almost 4 year old both needed glasses, called a zillion places trying to find special glasses that the little one could chew on and still survive, so after a week of figuring it out I finally got it sorted. Also have a wedding cake I am doing and found out today the date and it is only a week and a half from now! Yikes! So yeah, crazy hectic life, but review if you wish and I will attempt to write the first official chapter of the "present day" story that was my summary for you all to see. Hope you like it!

I love reviews and favorites and follows-they are great encouragement! (plus they help keep me motivated for continuing on!)

Oh, and I realized that I forgot to include a disclaimer so here it is:

_I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence._


	6. Chapter 1

_**Note- Thank you all for being so patient with me! Life has really gone crazy and I had a nasty writer's block for quite some time. Funny thing is, I have had quite a bit of this story plotted out in my mind for a long time-it just needs to be written, then apparently I ended up reading too many earth-to-middle-earth stories and a new plot bunny for that idea has been eating my brain up and making it nigh impossible to focus on this one!**_

_**So very sorry for the wait, and you get TWO new chapters in reward for your patience! (I just started writing and couldn't stop!) Please, please review-this is where the rubber meets the road so to speak-backstory is done, and we are now into the "present" day story that is described in my summary **_

_**I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.**_

Chapter 5

Goblins could be heard screeching behind them, their cries and howls echoing through the crude dark tunnels of the lower Misty Mountains as they came closer to their quarry. Seven dwarves and a hobbit of the Shire huffed and puffed as they ran, exhaustion from their travels slowing them despite their determination to continue on out of the seemingly impassable labyrinth of tunnels.

_It HAD to be goblins AGAIN, _thought Kili as they raced away from their pursuers along the dank tunnels. He had had quite enough of goblins to last a lifetime the _last_ time they had been running over rickety wooden platforms, swinging on unstable "bridges", and being nearly crushed to death by the gigantic corpse of the Goblin King. Not to mention the Battle of 5 Armies a few months later.

_Kili shuddered as he remembered the screams of elves, men, and dwarves and the vicious howls and cries of the thousands of orcs and wargs. Thorin's gold sickness had nearly cost the entire company their lives at the hands of those whom they would call allies by the day's end, and had very nearly cost Thorin, Fili, and Kili theirs as well. _

_His mind relived the battle. From their view atop the battlements of Erebor, they could see the army of Dale led by Bard the bowman in the valley, and if they squinted and shielded their eyes they could just make out the rows of elves on the hills along the far side of the valley near Raven Hill. On their side, they could see the armor of the Iron Hills dwarves glinting in the dim wintery light. Dawn was just arriving, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the marching of iron shod feet and growls of the wargs grew louder and louder. _

_That night, he and Fili had found a quiet corner off of the hall of Thrór and, for the first time since they had been small dwarflings, Fili held Kili protectively as the younger dwarf trembled in fear of what the morrow would bring. _

"_It was never supposed to be this way, Fee" Kili whimpered, "All those stories Uncle Thorin told us about how we were going to reclaim Erebor, how we were going to prove ourselves to our people, and all those stories of honor and glory and bravery found in battle-it's all wrong. I-I know I wanted to prove myself and show Uncle that I can be a worthy Prince of the line of Durin, but, Fee, I'm scared. I'm scared we are going to die, that Uncle and you are going to die in front of me and I won't be able to save you."_

_Fili held his trembling and sniffling brother in his arms, hoping that Kili will feel safe with his elder brother protecting him. He had done it for years, when Kili would wake crying and screaming from nightmares. He would allow Kili to crawl into his bed, and he would hold him and sooth him and stroke his hair until his cries turned into soft snoring and he would fall asleep with his tousled head on his elder brother's chest and his tiny thumb in his mouth, confident that his elder brother would protect him from everything he feared. And Fili would protect him from "the gowbins under my bed" and the "owks that came inna win'now" because he was his job to protect his younger brother._

_But he couldn't protect him, not this time. The battle was coming, and the orcs and wargs would be at the very threshold of Erebor by sunrise. With less than 1,000 men, dwarves, and elves, what would we be able to do against 5,000 orcs on wargs? He stroked his brother's hair as Kili curled further into his chest. _

"_I'm scared too, little brother," he whispered. _

_TRB_

_The three armies had waited with baited breath as they watched the torches from their enemies approach in the darkness. When the first rays of dawn appeared in the sky, it revealed a snow dusted desolation and clouds in the sky threatening more snow to come. The air was bitter cold, and the breath of the defenders frosty in the cold morning air. _

_Kili remembered well the loud roar that ensued as the opposing armies clashed in the valley before Erebor. He remembered putting on silver plated armor with the crest of Durin on the breast, while Fili put on the gold plated armor as befitting his soon to be status as Crown Prince. They kept their own weapons as opposed to the gilded and jeweled swords and knives they found in Erebor's royal armory, knowing that familiarity with the weapon would serve them better than unfamiliar ones. At least that was what they told Thorin when he had insisted that they would be entering the fray "looking like the Princes of the line of Durin they are destined to be". In reality, their fear of the unknown led them to seek the weapons forged for them in the only home they had ever known- The Blue Mountains. That small connection with "home" helped ease their terrified hearts as they were about to enter their first battle for the home they had only heard tales of._

_The rest of the company after they had been armored had been working frantically to weaken the wall they had built against the men and elves so that when all was ready they could enter the fray without risking entry by their enemies until they were prepared. They knew if the orcs and wargs were to enter Erebor, the battle would be lost. And yet, since Smaug had decimated the secret door, the gate was their only way out of the Mountain. _

_Once all the dwarves were ready, Dwalin took his mighty warhammer and broke a long chain that held a battering ram above the gate. Kili and Fili had looked at each other then, silently saying that they would protect each other and stand together and protect Thorin with their lives before raising their weapons. The ram descended rapidly, gaining speed before bursting through the wall. As it ran through the wall, large chunks of rock flew into the air and landed on many orcs and wargs, crushing them instantly. _

_Kili remembers the terrifying moment when the company charged out of the Mountain, Thorin rallying all the dwarves, elves, and men to him. He remembered the loud roaring battle cries of Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu! Axes of the dwarves! The dwarves are upon you! He remembered the renewed cries echoing off the hills and the Mountain as the allies began to regroup toward Thorin. But most of all, he remembered the blood._

_There was blood everywhere. The snow was falling and the ground was stained with it. The red blood of the allies mingled with the black blood of the orcs and wargs. He saw severed arms, severed legs, and entrails spewing forth on the ground. He saw the unseeing eyes of those who had fallen, all light gone from them as they stared blankly up at the sky. He saw the snow fall on those who had fallen and settle on their corpses in some seemingly weak attempt at hiding the carnage beneath. He stepped on bodies, slipped on snow and blood, and saw the world turning crimson. _

_Arrows, both black from the orcs and fair but deadly from the elves and men flew through the air, each volley hitting targets of both sides, each side hoping they would not hit a friend. His arrows sung through the air as well, his back to his brother as twin falchions sliced through the air. Both brothers moved as one as though it was a precise dance, Kili defending the distance while Fili defended his brother the archer. Each slew many orcs, and when Kili ran out of arrows, Fili protected him while he gathered spent arrows to continue firing. At last there were no more usable arrows, and Kili shouldered his bow and drew his sword. They continued slashing through orcs and wargs with only one thought on their minds._

_Protect Uncle, and protect each other._

_TRB_

_Both were so caught up in the fray they did not notice Bolg and Azog and their bodyguard slowly advancing toward them. They had become separated from the company and their allies and now it was just the three heirs of Durin back to back and surrounded by Goblins on all sides. If they had paid attention, they would have seen the goblin arrows that flew towards them. One hit Kili in the shoulder knocking him backwards and two hit Fili, one in his leg and one in his side. The side wound was superficial, but the leg wound caused him to stumble. They cried out and Thorin had turned around. Bolg chose that moment to go after the two Princes while Azog advanced toward Thorin, taking advantage of the moment where he was distracted. Azog swung the large mace at Thorin from his perch atop the white warg. Remembering the incident on the cliff, Thorin had wisely ducked. The beast had turned and charged again, and things happened very quickly._

_TRB_

_Kili heard Thorin curse as he slipped on the snow, he heard the loud thud as the warg charged into Thorin, and he saw his uncle fly through the air again to land on his back. He cried out to Fili, who managed to stand up, then Fili's eyes grew wide as he shouted, "Kili behind you!" _

_Kili turned in time to be greeted with Bolg's club across the face. He could see how Fili was torn between protecting his uncle and defending his brother. Kili saw the flash of Bolg's club out of the corner of his eye, and though he was lying on the ground stunned, he could not seem to raise his sword arm. As the club descended, Kili closed his eyes and whispered a silent I'm sorry brother. But the blow did not come. He heard a loud howl, and opened his eyes to see a shining red hilt sticking out of Bolg's throat. _

_Fili's dagger, he realized. Bolg fell to the ground mere inches from Kili. Dizzy, he managed to stumble up and turned around. The blood drained from his face as he took in the scene at hand. _

_Thorin was lying on the ground with his side and face bloody. And Fili, despite the broken arrow in his leg, was standing between Thorin and Azog. Kili saw that Azog had dismounted his warg, and noticed a patch of white fur that nearly blended in with the surroundings covered in blood, a second red hilt buried deep within its eye. _

_Blood trailed in Kili's eyes from where Bolg's club had hit the side of his head and he hurriedly wiped it away with his sleeve, which was also growing red from the arrow wound in his shoulder. Honestly, he was very lucky the blow hadn't killed him. As he hurried toward his brother to defend their uncle, an unbidden thought brought the slightest of grim smiles from him. Looks like that hard head Uncle always accused me of finally came in handy. _

_He raced toward his brother as fast as his dizzy head could go, crying out as Azog got a hit on Fili's right arm. He heard the loud crunch of bone, and knew that his brother's arm was broken. And it was on the same side as his wounded leg, making his right side completely open. As Kili watched in horror, the falchion fell from Fili's right hand as he cried out in agony. His left hand didn't drop the falchion, however, in reflex Fili had brought his fist still enclosed on the hilt of his sword to his right arm. Azog took that momentary opportunity of Fili's guard falling to swing at his left side and Fili fell atop his uncle, gasping in pain. _

_TRB_

_Fili saw the mace raise again as he felt his uncle's labored breathing underneath him. So this was his fate. He would die in battle, barely of age, being a living shield for his injured uncle. It was a worthy and honorable death. Indeed, dying by shielding your King to your last breath would be a death that would be told in legends to come. _

_But Fili did not want to die. He did not feel honorable. He did not feel brave. He was completely and utterly terrified. His entire life flashed through his mind as he saw the mace raised up, ready to deal the deathly blow. Of growing up in the Blue Mountains, of his father and mother, of the day he found out he would have a little brother or sister (he had always held out stubbornly that it WOULD be a brother, and Mahal help anyone who even suggested the possibility that it could be a sister!), of that dark day Thorin came and told them his father would not be returning to them, and of the ray of hope that same day when the grief of losing her love caused his mother to go into labor three weeks prematurely only for the infant and mother to survive._

_He remembered the first time he saw Kili-such a tiny but long baby, and the way the infant's eyes lit up and the crooked smile it made as soon as he saw his big brother for the first time. Kili's first smile hadn't been for his mother, or his uncle. It had been for him, his brother. And Fili had vowed at that moment, even as a tot still in diapers, that no one would EVER hurt his "bwudder" and that if anyone ever came to take him away like they did Papa he would hurt them bad. He had been just a tiny child still, for four years to a human is only one year to a dwarf, and Fili had merely been 5 years old and barely walking when Kili had been born. However, he had always been very intelligent, and was already speaking short but complete sentences by the time Kili was born, and understanding far more than most would give him credit for. Both boys were very intelligent, and those who were on the receiving end of their legendary pranks would heartily agree. _

_As he saw the mace began to descend, Fili could not help the tear that fell down his cheek even as he stared blankly at Azog. He had failed his brother. He had seen Kili get hit in the head, and his knife had left his hand just a second too late because it had caught in the bracer. The leather hadn't been oiled well enough for the bitter cold. He knew no one could survive a hit as hard as that to the side of his bare head. He had failed to oil his bracer properly, and it had killed his brother. The mace came down and Fili shut his eyes tightly, ready to enter the halls of Mandos to be reunited with his brother. _

_TRB_

_He jumped as he heard a loud clang mere inches from his face, and in his startle opened his eyes. A very familiar sword had broken the mace's descent, and the archer's glove holding onto the hilt of the sword made his heart surge with joy. _

_Kili!_

_The block was not expected by Azog, and he stumbled backwards, roaring and cursing violently in the black speech._

_TRB_

_Kili stood over his brother and uncle, facing down the very being that had haunted his dreams ever since he was a tiny dwarfling, and even more recently after the incident on the cliff after Goblintown when they discovered Azog was very much alive. He knew he had caught Azog off guard, but in his slightly muddled state he was too slow to take advantage of that opportunity as Azog righted himself. _

_Blinking his eyes as he fought the slight haze in his vision, he squared his shoulders and raised his sword, all pain and injury forgotten as he stood against the foe that threatened the lives of his uncle and brother. Azog regarded the young dwarf with what seemed like amusement. Kili just glared back at him in a rather eerily identical imitation of Thorin's glare. _

"_You will NOT touch my kin!" he roared at the giant orc. Out of nowhere an inner courage seemed to burst forth within him, and he knew that as long as he drew breath, Azog will never harm his family again. _

"_So this is your kin?" Azog sneered in the common speech, "then you must be his heirs and the last of the line of Durin, for you are obviously too young to have children, if your lack of a beard is any indication." _

_TRB_

_He cackled, making the hairs on Kili's neck stand up. Azog may be an orc, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew that a sparse beard meant a young dwarf, a child, if not barely more. He seemed to glance beyond Kili at the figures of Thorin and Fili, fixing Thorin with a smirk, who even in his wounded state glared back with utter hatred. _

"_Taking children into battle now, are we, Thorin son of Thrain?" he smirked. Thorin's eyes narrowed, the blond glanced at his brother with fear, and the sheer look of hatred the young dark one gave him was enough to know that being called a child was a point of weakness for the young dwarf warrior. _

_He smiled as he advanced on the young dwarf, raising his mace once more. This was going to be too easy._

_TRB_

_Kili fumed as Azog made his comment. He was no child! He had come on this adventure trying to prove that he wasn't! He raised his sword, about to charge at Azog, when his brother whispered something just loud enough for his brother to hear._

"_Focus, Kili. Don't let your anger control you, or he will win," Fili gasped out. Kili nodded, not taking his eyes off Azog. He reached inside his anger and took a deep breath, allowing the anger to flow out and the focus to return. He gripped his sword and began to regard his enemy with the gaze of a warrior. _

_He could see Azog's expression change. Evidently he had not counted on his quarry to be able to calm from a very clear insult so quickly. Kili smiled in a little bit of a victory, knowing he had slightly rattled his opponent, before Thorin's voice spoke in his head._

_Do not get overconfident, because it can be just as much of a distraction as getting caught off guard._

_Kili saw the mace coming at him and brought his sword up to glance it to the side. He knew he could not possibly hope to match the Gundabad orc in strength, especially since he was slightly leaner than most dwarves. He had to rely on agility and speed, parrying blows and tiring out his opponent until he could match in strength, then go for the kill. However, there was one minor problem with his strategy this time- He was already weaker from his injuries, and he couldn't prance around in circles because he could not risk stepping out from in front of his injured uncle and brother. _

_Azog raised his mace again and as it came down Kili dodged it. He knew Azog was aiming for him, so he used that to his advantage and went sidestepping, forward and back, but all within the same general area- between Azog and his kin. _

_The blows came almost too fast for him to register, and the ground below his feet was starting to get rutted and treacherous from the mace digging down into the frozen soil. He began to slip on the slightly wet snow as he went from side to side. _

_Then Azog got a hit on Kili's injured shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards and trip on Fili's leg. He landed atop his brother and heard the twin wheezes as both Thorin and Fili had the air knocked out of them, his sword clattering several feet away. The mace raised and came down hard on Kili's chest, cracking several ribs and making all remaining air rush out of his lungs. He began to gasp for air and his vision started to blur as small shiny dots began to rain from the sky, getting larger and larger. Just as he saw they were arrows, he heard orc cries and Azog looked up. With one last show of strength, Kili grabbed his worn dagger at his belt, his birthday present from his brother that was the result of his brother's first forging, and took aim. The knife left his hand just as the hailstorm of arrows descended, and his vision went black. _


	7. Chapter 2

Chapter 6

He had awakened two weeks later in a large tent in the main entrance hall of Erebor. Apparently, his knife had flown true and had imbedded itself in Azog's heart, killing the great orc before the arrows hit the two brothers and their uncle. Each of them had received several serious arrow wounds and had lost a lot of blood, but by some stroke of fate their limbs and bodies had intertwined in such a way that no arrows hit their faces or their hearts. However, some of the arrows had been poisoned, and all had been filthy. Gandalf and Oin, as well as the elven healers and Dain's healers, had fought day and night to keep the three alive. But finally they awoke, fevered, weak and pale, but wonderfully alive.

But the political tensions that had abated during the battle rose again. Thorin was still mad with the Gold Sickness, and rumors began to spread throughout the camps of men and dwarves. Thankfully, while the three royals had been on the brink of death, Dain had wisely seen that the men and elves who rendered them aid during the battle and then in the fight that occurred after would become allies if the political tensions stopped, and hearing this Bilbo had stepped up and kindly offered his own share to the elves. And as they had reluctantly agreed before the battle, Thorin's share went toward the price of the Arkenstone, and the gold and gem switched hands, because all knew that even though the heirs were fighting for their lives the armies could not stay or those that survived the battle would surely die from the bitter cold or starvation.

At Gandalf's suggestion, Bilbo had taken temporary possession of the Arkenstone since he was by far the most neutral of the parties involved until such time as it could be returned to Thorin, or Dain if the three died. Many of the dwarves from the Iron Hills were not happy with it being returned albeit temporarily to one whom they perceived was a traitor, but the company stood by Bilbo even as they grieved their own, and since no one wished to anger a wizard they ultimately accepted his decision.

But when the three awoke there was great celebration. The dwarves sent out hunting parties, and came back with some very choice stags. And as soon as the three were well enough, a great party was given in honor of the success of the quest. And all appeared to be well.

Bilbo had returned the Arkenstone to Thorin under the watchful eye of Gandalf in the middle of the night, neither knowing how Thorin would react. Indeed, Kili had watched in horror as Thorin very nearly lunged at it before grasping to it as though his life depended on it. Poor Bilbo's eyes had grown very wide and he nearly fainted, certain that Thorin would fulfill his threat on the battlements and kill him.

But, thankfully for all involved, Thorin's injuries were still too much of a strain, and about a minute after the lunge he passed out on the floor and had to be picked up and placed back on the bed. And when he awoke again to find it in his possession, he seemed to have forgotten what Bilbo had done. His recovery had been set back a little due to broken stitches, but what worried them more was that he seemed to have forgotten about the battle entirely.

Fili and Kili shared a tent with him, and each night they could hear him murmuring to the Arkenstone and in its faint light they could see him caressing it. He never let it leave his sight, and he growled at anyone who came near it. He even slept with it, and when he had to use the privy he took it with him. He managed to get Erebor up and running, but that was largely in part due to Balin and the wisdom he had gained from decades of being a royal advisor. Dain had his suspicions, but Dwalin ensured that none of his councilors or advisors came near enough to Thorin to realize that he had the dragon sickness.

Late one night, Gandalf and the rest of the company met in the royal tent (except Thorin, who was asleep still murmuring to the Arkenstone but still technically present). Gandalf had sighed and said that Dain and his men were getting very suspicious and starting to doubt Thorin's ability to rule. He also said by extension with Fili and Kili so young and so closely related to Thorin that if it was found out that Thorin had the gold sickness then Fili and Kili would also be declared ineligible for the throne. When the company had heard that, all except Fili and Kili were up on their feet declaring that the kingdom was theirs and Dain didn't even help on the quest and on and on.

Fili and Kili stayed silent as they looked at each other. Kili knew his brother had been trained for it and would make a good king, but he also knew his brother was emotionally not ready for it. He would do it, and he would do it well, but he would be uncertain and lack confidence, having not expected such responsibility for many years to come.

Gandalf silenced them all quickly. Then he mentioned something that came as a great surprise to all of them. He had told them there was an ancient spell that can lessen the effects of the dragon sickness, but he was not strong enough as a wizard to abolish it completely. He said that the head of his order, Saruman, knew far more than he the ancient spells regarding dragon sickness. He suggested that if he could put the lessening spell on Thorin, it would make Dain think that Thorin would be fine, and the coronation could happen and Dain could leave with his armies.

But, he had warned, it would be temporary. The lessening spell might make him act rationally for the winter at best, but after that its effectiveness would lessen as long as he was so near the Arkenstone and the gold. He said if the dwarves could somehow get Thorin to Orthanc and Saruman, and Saruman can put the abolishment spell on him, then he would be cured and gold and the Arkenstone would no longer have such allure to him.

The dwarves had been desperate for their leader to return to his senses, and though hesitant, they agreed. They had worked far too hard to have Erebor taken from them by someone who didn't want to help reclaim it in the first place.

So Gandalf had put the spell on him, and by morning Thorin was back to his moody but reasonably sane self. He was informed of what had transpired, and apologized profusely to Bilbo and the company for his actions during the madness. He proved himself to Dain and everyone else, and got Erebor back up and running. Thorin was crowned King Under the Mountain, Fili and Kili were named the Crown Prince and Prince, respectively, and Dain had left with the majority of his army, leaving behind some miners and stonemasons to aid in preparing Erebor for habitation again.

They were then placed in a precarious situation. Dain had offered some stonemasons and miners to Thorin to help prepare Erebor for rehabitation. Thorin had known that if he had refused, that would have made Dain question his sanity and possibly at the very least create tensions between the Iron Hills and Erebor, for it had been a very nice and perfectly reasonable offer. If Thorin and company left for Orthanc, it would leave Erebor completely open for Dain or anyone else to take the mountain from them. And then they were back to their previous problem. And if they stayed, Gandalf's spell would wear off and Thorin would be under the dragon sickness again. Neither of which were good options.

So they did what they had to do. They told the people that resided in Erebor that Thorin and his heirs would travel to other lands to make alliances with the kingdom and escort his sister from the Blue Mountains and bring her to her childhood home, restored to the Princess of Erebor she once was. When they were questioned as to why both the King and his heirs needed to go, Thorin had simply said that he had given his word to his sister that he would be the one to bring her home, and he said that his heirs had to come with him because she had sworn that if he returned without her sons she would cut off his manhood, stuff it down his throat, and choke him with it, and he was not eager to lose that part of his anatomy before he had the chance to explain that yes, they were very much alive.

Dain's men had been skeptical, but Thorin's description of what Dis had threatened to do made them chuckle, for let no one say that a female dwarf's temper was not feared by all dwarf men, especially where their children were concerned. And Dis's temper was particularly famous since she had indeed turned a noble lord into a noble lady without hesitation when he had made unwanted and inappropriate physical advances toward her during her coming of age ball. In fact, Kili had often wondered how in Mahal's name his father had managed to wed her with all his body parts intact.

So, Thorin had appointed Balin steward in his name, and to ensure that nothing went amiss, half the company stayed behind to act as his bodyguard and to make sure Dain's men didn't do anything with the company's rightful share of the gold or anything else they should not do.

Then the King, his two heirs, Dwalin, Bofur, Bifur, Oin, and Bilbo had set out from Erebor in the spring and journeyed south towards Orthanc. They skirted Mirkwood to the north, since no one of the party were eager to relive their "adventures" within the forest, then headed south along the Anduin until they reached Beorn's. As they traveled away from Erebor and the Arkenstone, Thorin's gold sickness grew less and less until they couldn't even tell he had been afflicted, much to his (and the company's) relief. They had rested and stayed with Beorn for a few weeks when there was a bad rainstorm that lasted for days, then had continued on the eastern side of the river past Lothlorien, Thorin as ever unwilling to come closer to elves than necessary. They had crossed the river at a relatively shallow spot leagues south of Lothlorien and continued on until they came within sight of the forest of Fangorn, and that's when everything began to go wrong.

They had been going on with cram for the past week, for though the crossing had been more shallow than other parts of the river, the waters were still pretty swollen from the rainstorm during the time they were at Beorn's, and they did not want to stay on the eastern side too close to Mirkwood any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, in an ironic turn of events, their pack pony with the food lost its footing and began to be washed down the river. Thorin had growled, "LEAVE IT!" when Fili and Kili had started going after it, no doubt remembering a similar incident the previous spring during their quest, when the two boys had gone after a bolting pack pony and nearly drowned trying to save it (and the food). They did, and the pony was lost, but thankfully this time no one was hurt by the time they reached the other side of the river. But all the food that was left was cram, so by the time they had reached the eaves of Fangorn, they had really begun to curse the clumsy pony and long for the meat that had washed downriver with it.

So when Kili had spotted the stag grazing just inside the eaves of the forest, he jumped on his pony and raced to get within range of it with his bow. The stag was not stupid, and as soon as it saw danger it bolted into the cover of the forest, with seven dwarves and a hobbit galloping in after it.

They lost the stag of course, and got lost in the forest. Thorin knew that Orthanc was on the other side of the forest near the Gap of Rohan, but the forest was over 200 miles wide and 150 miles long, and full of trees that had a distaste for all that walked on two legs. They ended up following dead ends, getting turned around, and losing any sight of the stars that may have guided them. They even begged Bilbo to climb a tree much like he had in Mirkwood to see where they were, but he had refused, hearing full well the creaking of the trees and sensing that not was all as it seemed.

They had ended up coming to what seemed to be the foot of the mountains after days of wandering through the forest, and had found a cave. Remembering their _last _experience in caves, Thorin had them all check ever single crack, rock, and crevasse in that cave. Finding nothing unusual, they had bedded down, hoping that their journey through the strange forest was finally over.

The goblins had come upon them in the night unawares. Bifur had been on watch, and had taken the chance to relieve himself really quickly, and the Goblins had used that to their advantage and caught him with a rock to the head. He had shouted but the goblins had swarmed them faster than they could draw their weapons. They took out many of them before finally being captured and taken into the mountain by a nearby cave. They had been taken through a labyrinth of tunnels and into a large room where an orc sat on a crude throne. This time, there was no wizard to aid in their escape because Gandalf had urgent business to attend to, however Bilbo had managed to slip on his ring and follow them unseen. Unfortunately for Bilbo, he had been squashed up against the wall with goblins all around him and though he was unseen, he could not break past them and was forced to watch the horror that followed.

The orc in charge of the goblins had been one of Bolg's bodyguard and knew exactly who Thorin, Fili, and Kili were, and in revenge for Azog and Bolg's death, he had Thorin watch as Fili and Kili were severely whipped and beaten. Kili still remembered the screams Fili had made, and knowing that it was his fault they had ended up in the forest in the first place had made the agony all the more real.

The orc wanted to see his prey suffer, so he made sure that Fili and Kili had not been killed just yet. Many of the company had received bruises and cuts and Dwalin had even sported a swollen and cut lip, but the worst punishment was seeing the princes beaten and being unable to do anything but curse at their captors. He was going to get them, but not just yet. They had been taken afterwards to crude cells and locked up.

Thank Mahal for Bilbo. He had followed them and as soon as the Goblins had left, he used his Sting and killed the remaining guards, got the keys, and set the dwarves free. They had caught the Goblins unaware, and killed those in their path until they had managed to find a tunnel that led away from where they were at, and ran.

Fili and Kili supported one another as they ran away from the pursuing goblins. They could barely see in the tunnels, Bilbo's Sting and Thorin's Orcrist the only light to be had. Bilbo had taken off his ring as soon as they had encountered the first group of goblins after escaping the cages, not wanting to accidentally be killed by his friends. Just as the goblin's cries had begun to fade, they came into a wide open space with only a crude narrow stone bridge spanning an unknown depth. They could faintly hear the rushing of water, the air had begun to smell less foul, and even the very darkness of the cave seemed to be lessened as though they were close to an exit. The dwarves began to run across this span, Fili and Kili somehow ending up in the rear. Thorin looked back at them and urged them on, not knowing how they ended up in the rear but not wanting them to stay there.

Suddenly the earth itself began to shake. The entire company fell to its knees as a great crack sounded, and a great boulder began to fall from the ceiling directly above the bridge. Fili and Kili looked up and out of instinct Fili surged forward expecting his brother to follow. Kili surged backward at the same time not wanting to hit his brother and knock them both off the bridge. The boulder slammed into the bridge between them and went right through it, leaving a gaping hole with Kili on one side and Fili and the rest of the company on the other.

Kili looked up, his dark brown eyes staring across the expanse at the horrified looks on both his brother's and uncle's faces.

"Kili!" Fili shouted, lunging toward him.

"No Fili!" Thorin cried as he grabbed Fili's shoulders to keep him from most certainly jumping to his death in his attempt to reach his brother.

Kili looked on at his brother, wondering how he was going to get over to the other side, when he heard footsteps. Thorin and Fili had heard it too, and it took both Thorin and Dwalin to hold Fili back as he shouted Kili's name. Kili cried out to his brother, eyes widening and blood draining from his face as he heard the shrieks of Goblins getting louder echoing off the passageway behind him.

"FILI!" he cried as he felt claws grab him from the back and begin to drag him away.


End file.
